The Massage

As a Mother’s Day gift, from our kind husbands, my girlfriend Amy and I were sent out for an afternoon of indulgence and relaxation. Both of us pregnant, and with little ones at home, we were grateful for the chance to be de-stressed and pampered.

Our afternoon began with high tea, whilst overlooking Manchester’s city centre, where we savoured gourmet finger sandwiches and gorged our pregnant selves silly, on tiny cakes.

This ever-so traditional English experience, was followed by a spa treatment of a less traditional nature. We were rubbed and scrubbed from head to toe for sixty heavenly minutes…

Sigh.

And afterwards, feeling both rejuvenated and useless, we beached our indulged bodies on lounge chairs in the spa’s relaxation room. There, peppermint tea in hand, Amy and I had the following conversation:

Amy: “That citrus oil was sooo nice. I think I’ll buy some.”

Me: : “It was nice. You should.”

Amy: “What a great massage. So relaxing. I don’t even want to move!”

Me: “I know. Me neither. I have to admit, though, I was a bit caught off guard by the boob rub…”

Amy: (unbeaching herself with a shocking level of agility) “The what rub?”

Me: “Boob rub… You know, when she put on the anti-stretch mark lotion?”

Amy: “Are you kidding me?! What do you mean?”

Me: “What do you mean? You didn’t have one?”

Amy: “NO!? Like… When? How?”

Me: “Well, she was applying the shea butter, in a circular motion, on my bump and surrounding area and then she gave my boobs a total rub down! It was sort of like a slow motion, holistic version, of Tune in Tokyo. Only slightly less awkward.”

Amy: “Oh my GOD!” (starts laughing).

Me: ….

Amy: “Sooo. How was it?”

Me: “Well, after the initial “what the hell?” moment, it was actually sorta nice.”

Amy: (suddenly serious) “Wait a minute. Why did you get a boob rub and I didn’t?”

Me: “I don’t know! I guess you’ll have to ask for Jessica, next time…”

*******

Well, next time never did happen. Neither Amy, nor I, called to book a massage with Jessica. A surprise boob rub is one thing but signing up for a pre-planned one, is a bit too X-rated for us suburban moms. Instead, life carried on as it always had; after I answered a few predictably basic questions, from my husband, that is. Yes, she was hot and yes, I actually did like it.

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